You! Yes YOU! And no, I don't mean to partially quote a Ben Lee album.
When you're like 11 and on the metro for vacation with 5 of your other buddies on the metro in the middle of the day simmer down!
Not only that, but I fucking hope someone steals your damn iPod mini. No one your age should have a fucking iPod mini.
Not only are you too young to have one, you and your badly behaved friends are fucking annoying.
Why are you wearing pirate hats that look like you bought them on Pirates of the Carribean at Disneyland?
Also? You might think you look punk wearing your aviator glasses on the metro, but you look a fucking fool.
Finally? Learn the rules of metro. You're being loud and rambuncious on the metro, such as your tool of a friend using the higher bar to do one-armed pull-ups is embarassing. Not. Cool.
Why are there so many tourists going to Smithsonian at noon?
Why does a fucking 11 year-old have an iPod?
Thursday, April 28, 2005
the more things change...wait, they don't
Once a procrastinator. ALWAYS a procrastinator. I think I fully have Stretch's support on this one. I don't know how I always end up this way, but I'm looking forward to the end of the semester.
And a break in the summer from school work. It'll be awesome.
Now I just have to decide which actual classes I am going to take. I've signed up for multiple, and all, or many sound interesting so I just need to whittle the choices down.
What's really odd about this sudden burst of blogging is how I've been rather inactive lately, and now that I should be typing about anything but this blog, I'm all about posting suddenly.
How sweet things stay the same.
And a break in the summer from school work. It'll be awesome.
Now I just have to decide which actual classes I am going to take. I've signed up for multiple, and all, or many sound interesting so I just need to whittle the choices down.
What's really odd about this sudden burst of blogging is how I've been rather inactive lately, and now that I should be typing about anything but this blog, I'm all about posting suddenly.
How sweet things stay the same.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
more fun porn findings!
This is actually getting to be fun. I mean obviously not being at work this late...especially since I'll miss the beginning of AI but whatever.
‘Watcha Gonna Do when they Cum all Over you?’What Police Themes in Male Erotic Video Reveal …
Looking for my penis: The eroticized Asian in gay video porn
A Star Is Porn: Corpulence, Comedy, and the Homosocial Cult of Adult Film Star Ron Jeremy (who I secretly think is totally fascinating)
The Joy Fuck Club: Prolegomenon to an Asian American Porno Practice
Sex pigs: why porn is like sausage, or the truth is that--behind the scenes--porn is not very sexy.
WHEN JILL JACKS IN Queer women and the Net
Okay...and because it is google scholar, there are lots of actual studies.
It's the small things though. The small things.
‘Watcha Gonna Do when they Cum all Over you?’What Police Themes in Male Erotic Video Reveal …
Looking for my penis: The eroticized Asian in gay video porn
A Star Is Porn: Corpulence, Comedy, and the Homosocial Cult of Adult Film Star Ron Jeremy (who I secretly think is totally fascinating)
The Joy Fuck Club: Prolegomenon to an Asian American Porno Practice
Sex pigs: why porn is like sausage, or the truth is that--behind the scenes--porn is not very sexy.
WHEN JILL JACKS IN Queer women and the Net
Okay...and because it is google scholar, there are lots of actual studies.
It's the small things though. The small things.
gay male porn searches
So...part of the literature search I'm doing for my final paper has to do with gay male porn.
In an ironic twist, B., had no qualms about the shoes for her bridesmaids' whatsoever. It a not so suprising leap, both B's sister and the groom's sister did. We all had to wear the same shoes. This is a problem because
a) I have massive feet, which is direct opposition to Shortie's midget feet. Like seriously? You see her shoes and you're like, are those owned by small people? Teeny, tiny, teeny people! Okay, so that's referencing Kirstie Alley's show, which? Sometimes fucking brilliant and hilarious. Finding shoes that fit my feet is a difficult task. Usually department stores don't carry my size, and only fucking Payless carries my shoe size. And usually in really ugly styles too, but I do with what I can. And. Online stores, but that takes thought into buying your shoes. And a massive amount of time.
So. Limiting.
b) I'm pretty tall, so I refused to have a high heel. There's a picture of B, her sister, and I right before we're about to go to a nice dinner and I'm wearing, like, 3 inch heels TOPS, maybe less, and I'm fucking towering, towering!, over both of them. It's a pretty horrible picture, and I expressed that under no fucking means was I going to be that person in the wedding photos. This I believe was more of an issue/sticking point because it was more limiting for the ladies.
There was a flurry of emails. B.'s sister wanted one type, Groom's sis wanted another. We were all supposed to find ones, and forward them. We'd almost decide, and then either sister would be like, well what about these?
In the beginning I wanted closed-toe, just because I have weird toes too. What? So would you with massive feet.
So at one point though, B's sister sent out shoes that I didn't really like, I have forgotten at this point why...oh, the heel. Totally forgot. So to diffuse the situation, because these are dangerous times people, I decided to use a little levity in why I couldn't wear them.
I actually found an out. In formal I wear size 12, and so I was all, "well you know since I'm a Saskatchewan they won't fit my feet..."
Which, when I told CBF, he busted out laughing. He pointed out that I probably meant Sasquatch. Yeah. Of course I then felt totally embarassed.
First google finding in google scholar with gay and pornography?
Saskatchewan Law Review, 1993
Awesome. It's come back to haunt me.
In an ironic twist, B., had no qualms about the shoes for her bridesmaids' whatsoever. It a not so suprising leap, both B's sister and the groom's sister did. We all had to wear the same shoes. This is a problem because
a) I have massive feet, which is direct opposition to Shortie's midget feet. Like seriously? You see her shoes and you're like, are those owned by small people? Teeny, tiny, teeny people! Okay, so that's referencing Kirstie Alley's show, which? Sometimes fucking brilliant and hilarious. Finding shoes that fit my feet is a difficult task. Usually department stores don't carry my size, and only fucking Payless carries my shoe size. And usually in really ugly styles too, but I do with what I can. And. Online stores, but that takes thought into buying your shoes. And a massive amount of time.
So. Limiting.
b) I'm pretty tall, so I refused to have a high heel. There's a picture of B, her sister, and I right before we're about to go to a nice dinner and I'm wearing, like, 3 inch heels TOPS, maybe less, and I'm fucking towering, towering!, over both of them. It's a pretty horrible picture, and I expressed that under no fucking means was I going to be that person in the wedding photos. This I believe was more of an issue/sticking point because it was more limiting for the ladies.
There was a flurry of emails. B.'s sister wanted one type, Groom's sis wanted another. We were all supposed to find ones, and forward them. We'd almost decide, and then either sister would be like, well what about these?
In the beginning I wanted closed-toe, just because I have weird toes too. What? So would you with massive feet.
So at one point though, B's sister sent out shoes that I didn't really like, I have forgotten at this point why...oh, the heel. Totally forgot. So to diffuse the situation, because these are dangerous times people, I decided to use a little levity in why I couldn't wear them.
I actually found an out. In formal I wear size 12, and so I was all, "well you know since I'm a Saskatchewan they won't fit my feet..."
Which, when I told CBF, he busted out laughing. He pointed out that I probably meant Sasquatch. Yeah. Of course I then felt totally embarassed.
First google finding in google scholar with gay and pornography?
Saskatchewan Law Review, 1993
Awesome. It's come back to haunt me.
caffeine count
Yesterday's caffeine count was rather high. I mean if I'm composing entries about Coffeemate? There must be a certain amount added. Which, and it could be due to the amount of stress, but I woke up with about 5 hours of sleep, and before my alarm went off. Weird. Which of course I then slept through. You can't waste those 5 minutes when you're just getting them.
So, yesterday:
2 cups of crappy office coffee...well there might have been a third in there
2 diet mountain dews...totally guzzled before class too
1 large mug of strong coffee at 11 p.m.
Oh. And 2 Silver Bullets when I first got home to try and combat that fabu panic attack, which? Well founded I find out.
Awesome.
Don't judge the Silver Bullet lifestyle. They're still left-over from when Stretch was visiting, and sometimes? It's all we can afford. It's a band-aid.
I need a cigarette.
So, yesterday:
2 cups of crappy office coffee...well there might have been a third in there
2 diet mountain dews...totally guzzled before class too
1 large mug of strong coffee at 11 p.m.
Oh. And 2 Silver Bullets when I first got home to try and combat that fabu panic attack, which? Well founded I find out.
Awesome.
Don't judge the Silver Bullet lifestyle. They're still left-over from when Stretch was visiting, and sometimes? It's all we can afford. It's a band-aid.
I need a cigarette.
Monday, April 25, 2005
emotion and no sleep are no good
It turns out that a lack of sleep might aid you in having a panic attack.
I pretty much had my first full on panic attack tonight, which, I'm suprised a little that it took this long. I might have had near panic attacks, but this is I think the first full on one...which I might still be in the midst of slightly.
I think it started with clearly the general stress of ending the semester and oversleeping today and finding my boss in my office as I walked in late, talking on the phone as if he owned the place. It was more than a little scary. I figured that he was there in case I came in and wanted to listen to the conference call that I was missing.
When awesome big boss man of the place was like, I'm sure this makes sense somehow...seeing as I was seated across from him, my personal big boss man was all, my phone isn't working.
Makes sense. Except potentially not because there is another whole office that he can use where two part-time people share it, and they weren't going to be coming in. He probably felt I was closest and...didn't care. Another co-worker afterwards was all, what was BBM doing in your office? I thought you quit, or you know...getting fired. I thought we were going to have to do an intervention and I went to C's office and she wasn't there either. I was like, well, thanks for watching my back, and no, I don't think I'll be getting fired.
I don't really want to go into detail of what spurned everything, but let's just say that's not really how you want to start your Monday morning.
I pretty much had my first full on panic attack tonight, which, I'm suprised a little that it took this long. I might have had near panic attacks, but this is I think the first full on one...which I might still be in the midst of slightly.
I think it started with clearly the general stress of ending the semester and oversleeping today and finding my boss in my office as I walked in late, talking on the phone as if he owned the place. It was more than a little scary. I figured that he was there in case I came in and wanted to listen to the conference call that I was missing.
When awesome big boss man of the place was like, I'm sure this makes sense somehow...seeing as I was seated across from him, my personal big boss man was all, my phone isn't working.
Makes sense. Except potentially not because there is another whole office that he can use where two part-time people share it, and they weren't going to be coming in. He probably felt I was closest and...didn't care. Another co-worker afterwards was all, what was BBM doing in your office? I thought you quit, or you know...getting fired. I thought we were going to have to do an intervention and I went to C's office and she wasn't there either. I was like, well, thanks for watching my back, and no, I don't think I'll be getting fired.
I don't really want to go into detail of what spurned everything, but let's just say that's not really how you want to start your Monday morning.
how you know...
that you've had way, way, way, way too much strong coffee at too quickly late at night?
You're dancing around your apartment, okay, studio, to your iTunes library because it's filled at least half full with electronic music, in your socks, enjoying the slide on the parkay floor.
I know. Parkay sucks.
And I should totally be fucking doing my reading, but I'm MUCH too wired right now.
Shite.
You're dancing around your apartment, okay, studio, to your iTunes library because it's filled at least half full with electronic music, in your socks, enjoying the slide on the parkay floor.
I know. Parkay sucks.
And I should totally be fucking doing my reading, but I'm MUCH too wired right now.
Shite.
Sunday, April 24, 2005
does coffeemate scare anyone else?
Junior year I was introduced to Coffeemate creamer by CBF's family. I went home with him for Thanksgiving, and for the first time to his house. [And on a side note, this past weekend it felt like we were dating the most since we made out.] Digression. Anyway, in the morning there was the good coffee and then there was this liquid hazelnut creamer. I clearly had seen that nasty powdered shit that doesn't have any flavouring previously. I had never seen coffeemate creamer in a carton that looked like milk was supposed to come out of it. I added some to my coffee and a relationship was born.
It was fucking amazing. Granted I had been drinking dining hall coffee and on the rare occassion the goodness that IS Dunkin' Donuts. But this was still the time where most friends, okay, CBF who I essentially lived with Junior year, didn't have his car and so getting off campus was difficult. I was absolutely delighted that this creamer made my coffee taste like it had actually come from DD's.
Okay. So I was a little stupid because at first I thought it was his mother's mad coffee making skills. He pointed out it was the creamer. I was enamored. I was convinced this would make all my coffee in college that much better when I was up late at night and couldn't get off campus. Clearly, I had to get to the grocery store to get it, and well, I never did.
I even introduced my mother to the creamer that spring break when I was visiting. She still damns me for introducing it to her. Previously she was just adding milk. We were talking on the phone at some point recently and she was annoyed because she was all, I can't believe they didn't have the mocha flavoured creamer! They had run out! What was she going to put into her coffee!?!?! I pointed out that it was because it was Stater Bros., which is the sub-par supermarket. And that, you know, she could add milk. There was this HUGE fight between Albertson's which is the far superior supermarket and it's workers because they wanted health insurance or something. It turned into about a year-long debacle before it was resolved. My mom wanted to support them, and so was going to Stater's which it's worker lovingly refer to as Slaver Bros.
I'm not a morning person whatsoever, and so I don't have time to make coffee in the morning. My coffee maker that CBF got me doesn't have fancy adjustments to make coffee so it's ready for you in the morning and so I usually vie for the nasty free coffee at work. This past year with work and grad school I've started making coffee at night to keep me awake for all the work I have to do. Last semster was especially ugly. The coffee even was really ugly. I mean I was making fucking sludge.
There were grinds in the coffee.
The coffee was so bitter it would hurt my mouth and stomach.
The only thing that slightly helped was my lovely Coffeemate, and even then I still had to guzzle it in order to consume it.
The scary part? Sometimes I still fell asleep.
It's gotten to that point in the semester where I'm making coffee at night again. Stronger each day in fact. It's also time to whip out the CM again, because I want it to be able to go down somewhat enjoyably. The problem is that I bought creamer ages ago. From Giant no less.
The Giant where you can buy overdue food. The Giant where the lights outside don't really light up. It's abso-fucking-lutely ghetto but it seems closer than Safeway, and less of a hassle than going to the Social Safeway. If I had to gander when I bought the creamer, I would say earliest, February. Beginning of.
The creamer? It's still good. All three of them. One I know I must have bought in January. One is even good until June 1st. The others are good until mid-may. So hey. If the bottle stamp says it, it must be true. I'm adding that shit to my coffee.
The question? What the fuck is in the creamer that it can be 'good' for months? It's like the fucking twinkie of the liquid world, and that really scares me.
It was fucking amazing. Granted I had been drinking dining hall coffee and on the rare occassion the goodness that IS Dunkin' Donuts. But this was still the time where most friends, okay, CBF who I essentially lived with Junior year, didn't have his car and so getting off campus was difficult. I was absolutely delighted that this creamer made my coffee taste like it had actually come from DD's.
Okay. So I was a little stupid because at first I thought it was his mother's mad coffee making skills. He pointed out it was the creamer. I was enamored. I was convinced this would make all my coffee in college that much better when I was up late at night and couldn't get off campus. Clearly, I had to get to the grocery store to get it, and well, I never did.
I even introduced my mother to the creamer that spring break when I was visiting. She still damns me for introducing it to her. Previously she was just adding milk. We were talking on the phone at some point recently and she was annoyed because she was all, I can't believe they didn't have the mocha flavoured creamer! They had run out! What was she going to put into her coffee!?!?! I pointed out that it was because it was Stater Bros., which is the sub-par supermarket. And that, you know, she could add milk. There was this HUGE fight between Albertson's which is the far superior supermarket and it's workers because they wanted health insurance or something. It turned into about a year-long debacle before it was resolved. My mom wanted to support them, and so was going to Stater's which it's worker lovingly refer to as Slaver Bros.
I'm not a morning person whatsoever, and so I don't have time to make coffee in the morning. My coffee maker that CBF got me doesn't have fancy adjustments to make coffee so it's ready for you in the morning and so I usually vie for the nasty free coffee at work. This past year with work and grad school I've started making coffee at night to keep me awake for all the work I have to do. Last semster was especially ugly. The coffee even was really ugly. I mean I was making fucking sludge.
There were grinds in the coffee.
The coffee was so bitter it would hurt my mouth and stomach.
The only thing that slightly helped was my lovely Coffeemate, and even then I still had to guzzle it in order to consume it.
The scary part? Sometimes I still fell asleep.
It's gotten to that point in the semester where I'm making coffee at night again. Stronger each day in fact. It's also time to whip out the CM again, because I want it to be able to go down somewhat enjoyably. The problem is that I bought creamer ages ago. From Giant no less.
The Giant where you can buy overdue food. The Giant where the lights outside don't really light up. It's abso-fucking-lutely ghetto but it seems closer than Safeway, and less of a hassle than going to the Social Safeway. If I had to gander when I bought the creamer, I would say earliest, February. Beginning of.
The creamer? It's still good. All three of them. One I know I must have bought in January. One is even good until June 1st. The others are good until mid-may. So hey. If the bottle stamp says it, it must be true. I'm adding that shit to my coffee.
The question? What the fuck is in the creamer that it can be 'good' for months? It's like the fucking twinkie of the liquid world, and that really scares me.
Friday, April 15, 2005
bourbon and the l
So...this past season of the L word, and it's really going to hurt me more than it will hurt the people at the show, has been, well...blah. Some episodes have been pretty good, and there have still been some enjoyable jems of songs.
And then? There's fucking Betty. The plethora of scenes where Betty and 'ezgirl,' who is the lead singer of Betty and music composer this season, ruin a scene with the fucking background music and noises. It grates to no end. You know what else grates? The fact that she obviously has no fucking talent in that she recycles her theme song different ways for each episode. If it's crap to begin with, why do you want to continue with it? Like the the theme song sung in french during one of the dream sequences, or in spanish during the Spanish titled episode? It's heavy-handed and unimaginative. It sounds like crap, and the lyrics are crap.
If some of the storylines are going to be contrived, long-winded, and boring, then keep with the awesome music. It makes time go by much more quickly. Plus, when there is so much fucking distracting background noise it takes you out of the episode. Case in point, Jenny's sitting on the steps explaining to Carmen that she lost her job because she 'outed' herself, and can you imagine what might be playing in the background? If you guessed a voice, most likely Ms. Ziff's herself, chanting 'lesbian' over and over again, you'd win some cash. Or you know, just in case while watching a sex scene, you didn't actually quite get that these characters were having sex and you know, enjoying themselves, we'll add some moaning.
I hate you Betty. I don't care that you're hometown products. You fucking suck. Especially you Elizabeth Ziff. Yes. That's right. I'm not going to address you by your fucking 'composer' name. Oh? And why do you all keep on popping up in throwaway cameos post your actual appearance performing in the episode. Which sucked. Though, when Miss Foxy Brown Herself was singing with you all, it was pretty cool. Most likely because it wasn't your song.
Things that make slow episodes go by much more quickly? Bourbon. I love bourbon. I mean I've been a vodka girl from the get go, and I'll never leave the vodka. But pretty much any time I drink bourbon it's a fucking ecstatic buzz. I don't know how that happens. So Shortie came by yesterday to catch up on all the 'lost' episodes that I've fast-forwarded through because I was bored with them. Bourbon makes the episodes go by much quicker. As does company who you can commiserate with about the awfulness that is the music and slightly the season.
You know what else The Bourbon can do? Plot and Plan. The action? Shortie's friends with the people who work at Lambda Rising, which I coincidentally learned today was around back in the beginning of the day when GLAAD was first beginning, and the workers stood outside Lambda and begged for donations. That's pretty cool. I'm in love with GLAAD and totally want to work there in a kick ass position. I digress. The plan? We're going to place a petition by the cash register to Boot Betty and mail it to Ms. Ilene Chaiken herself. Or, you know, Showtime.
Action people. We're not going to just sit at home and complain about how awful it is!
Though...if they, and by they I mean Ms. 'I'm too Hollywood and so I broke up with my partner and quelle fucking suprise since I essentially wrote it into the script for my alter-ego' Chaiken, find out...would they have the power to take away my Showtime, and my L word? Because I know I'm not strong enough to live without them.
It's like having a coke habit (because as Ms. Houston says, crack is wack, so don't be trying that crack), you're addicted, you know it, and you don't necessarily even enjoy it that much anymore, but you have to have it. Even when I'm fast-forwarding through, I know that if I wasn't at least seeing it I'd be going through withdrawal. It's a slippery slope people.
A Fucking. Slippery. Slope.
Sign the petition people.
And then? There's fucking Betty. The plethora of scenes where Betty and 'ezgirl,' who is the lead singer of Betty and music composer this season, ruin a scene with the fucking background music and noises. It grates to no end. You know what else grates? The fact that she obviously has no fucking talent in that she recycles her theme song different ways for each episode. If it's crap to begin with, why do you want to continue with it? Like the the theme song sung in french during one of the dream sequences, or in spanish during the Spanish titled episode? It's heavy-handed and unimaginative. It sounds like crap, and the lyrics are crap.
If some of the storylines are going to be contrived, long-winded, and boring, then keep with the awesome music. It makes time go by much more quickly. Plus, when there is so much fucking distracting background noise it takes you out of the episode. Case in point, Jenny's sitting on the steps explaining to Carmen that she lost her job because she 'outed' herself, and can you imagine what might be playing in the background? If you guessed a voice, most likely Ms. Ziff's herself, chanting 'lesbian' over and over again, you'd win some cash. Or you know, just in case while watching a sex scene, you didn't actually quite get that these characters were having sex and you know, enjoying themselves, we'll add some moaning.
I hate you Betty. I don't care that you're hometown products. You fucking suck. Especially you Elizabeth Ziff. Yes. That's right. I'm not going to address you by your fucking 'composer' name. Oh? And why do you all keep on popping up in throwaway cameos post your actual appearance performing in the episode. Which sucked. Though, when Miss Foxy Brown Herself was singing with you all, it was pretty cool. Most likely because it wasn't your song.
Things that make slow episodes go by much more quickly? Bourbon. I love bourbon. I mean I've been a vodka girl from the get go, and I'll never leave the vodka. But pretty much any time I drink bourbon it's a fucking ecstatic buzz. I don't know how that happens. So Shortie came by yesterday to catch up on all the 'lost' episodes that I've fast-forwarded through because I was bored with them. Bourbon makes the episodes go by much quicker. As does company who you can commiserate with about the awfulness that is the music and slightly the season.
You know what else The Bourbon can do? Plot and Plan. The action? Shortie's friends with the people who work at Lambda Rising, which I coincidentally learned today was around back in the beginning of the day when GLAAD was first beginning, and the workers stood outside Lambda and begged for donations. That's pretty cool. I'm in love with GLAAD and totally want to work there in a kick ass position. I digress. The plan? We're going to place a petition by the cash register to Boot Betty and mail it to Ms. Ilene Chaiken herself. Or, you know, Showtime.
Action people. We're not going to just sit at home and complain about how awful it is!
Though...if they, and by they I mean Ms. 'I'm too Hollywood and so I broke up with my partner and quelle fucking suprise since I essentially wrote it into the script for my alter-ego' Chaiken, find out...would they have the power to take away my Showtime, and my L word? Because I know I'm not strong enough to live without them.
It's like having a coke habit (because as Ms. Houston says, crack is wack, so don't be trying that crack), you're addicted, you know it, and you don't necessarily even enjoy it that much anymore, but you have to have it. Even when I'm fast-forwarding through, I know that if I wasn't at least seeing it I'd be going through withdrawal. It's a slippery slope people.
A Fucking. Slippery. Slope.
Sign the petition people.
jinx?
I guess mentioning that my blog was dead, led it to be dead.
Damn you! Blogger!
Today? Not so good. Too much empathy for a friend going through a very, stressful slash rough spot. Stressed me out. One of my traits that I hate about myself. Can't I just listen and advice without actually feeling stress and sometimes ill with worry about that person? Empathy is overrated sometimes.
Damn you! Blogger!
Today? Not so good. Too much empathy for a friend going through a very, stressful slash rough spot. Stressed me out. One of my traits that I hate about myself. Can't I just listen and advice without actually feeling stress and sometimes ill with worry about that person? Empathy is overrated sometimes.
Wednesday, April 06, 2005
not dead yet
I could be talking about this blog.
I could also be talking about my beautiful, wonderful, and well...dead-ish computer.
The backlight to my wonderful PowerBook blew this weekend. We're talking about a 6 month old computer. We're also talking about serious fucking crunch time in term time. The term ends at the beginning of May and I have a massive amount of writing to do until then and my laptop is going to be gone for two weeks.
At least that's what the dickwad at the Genius Bar told me. He was so fucking flippant that I wanted to slap him. Plus he was helping me and this other girl at the same time. It's like dude, I know you might be trying to show off, but I think it would indeed more expedient if you were to one of us at once rather than doing both of us at the same time. He also didn't seem to really care that my computer backlight blew.
He tried to do the reset move, and then realized that my screen still wasn't showing. His very serious and professional assessment? "Your backlight is blown." No. Fucking. Kidding. I know! He seemed flummoxed. He then had the audacity to look at my computer and ask if I dropped it.
Hello!?! McFly!!! I still have the cushioning styrofoam on the inside and there are no scratches. I treat that computer better than I would a newborn baby. There are Rules Dammit! for everyone, plus me, in getting near my computer and using it as well. I was a little indignant in my response and he looked like he didn't believe me. Dickwad.
He then asked if I bought it from them. "Yes." Did you buy it from this store? "Yes!" Fix my damn computer! It's Apple's fault. Not mine.
Then Genius Bar Boy was all, so, you know that your computer is going to be blank when you get it back right? You're going to be okay with that? What?!? No! I was so pissed. I was like, um, I have my songs and my school documents and Office and everything. He was like, okay so you'll probably want to back that up. Of course to the tune of 50 dollars. Sons of fucking bitches.
Dear Apple,
I love you. I do. You're pretty. You're ususally reliable, and I did pay an arm and a leg to get extra insurance this past weekend. Thanks for those extra $245...it better be worth it. But seriously? Charging for backing up data? Assholish. Hiring dickwads who think they're all that? You might want to cut back on that.
Thanks.
Your concerned customer,
Karen
I could also be talking about my beautiful, wonderful, and well...dead-ish computer.
The backlight to my wonderful PowerBook blew this weekend. We're talking about a 6 month old computer. We're also talking about serious fucking crunch time in term time. The term ends at the beginning of May and I have a massive amount of writing to do until then and my laptop is going to be gone for two weeks.
At least that's what the dickwad at the Genius Bar told me. He was so fucking flippant that I wanted to slap him. Plus he was helping me and this other girl at the same time. It's like dude, I know you might be trying to show off, but I think it would indeed more expedient if you were to one of us at once rather than doing both of us at the same time. He also didn't seem to really care that my computer backlight blew.
He tried to do the reset move, and then realized that my screen still wasn't showing. His very serious and professional assessment? "Your backlight is blown." No. Fucking. Kidding. I know! He seemed flummoxed. He then had the audacity to look at my computer and ask if I dropped it.
Hello!?! McFly!!! I still have the cushioning styrofoam on the inside and there are no scratches. I treat that computer better than I would a newborn baby. There are Rules Dammit! for everyone, plus me, in getting near my computer and using it as well. I was a little indignant in my response and he looked like he didn't believe me. Dickwad.
He then asked if I bought it from them. "Yes." Did you buy it from this store? "Yes!" Fix my damn computer! It's Apple's fault. Not mine.
Then Genius Bar Boy was all, so, you know that your computer is going to be blank when you get it back right? You're going to be okay with that? What?!? No! I was so pissed. I was like, um, I have my songs and my school documents and Office and everything. He was like, okay so you'll probably want to back that up. Of course to the tune of 50 dollars. Sons of fucking bitches.
Dear Apple,
I love you. I do. You're pretty. You're ususally reliable, and I did pay an arm and a leg to get extra insurance this past weekend. Thanks for those extra $245...it better be worth it. But seriously? Charging for backing up data? Assholish. Hiring dickwads who think they're all that? You might want to cut back on that.
Thanks.
Your concerned customer,
Karen
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
happy early easter!
Tomorrow is going to be a hectic day, and so I figured that I would post this previous to Easter and I didn't have a chance at work to post. Because, you know. I should probably be workings since I'm taking a long holiday.
Easter has always been one of my favourite holidays, and in Geneva the Easter Vigil service was always my absolute favourite services of the year. It was just a special ceremony and fun social time afterwards.
Since college though, Easter has became my favourite holiday. I mean Christmas is great and blah blah blah whatnot, but for me it's really about being with my family rather than Christmas. It also is really stressful, though hands down I can't deny how much I love the Christmas market. Distinction? Not the actual Christmas day. Plus, there's always that semi-empty feeling afterwards, where it's over and you're sad that it finally is over, and everyone's just sitting around not quite sure what to do. Hint: Gluhwein can never go wrong.
Freshman year though, I went home with B for Easter, and I discovered a whole new world of Easter. I didn't quite enjoy the service as much, but the actual weekend is awesome. I mean that first Freshman year Easter was awesome because essentially all of B's family came up to her family's house for Easter because her grandparents still lived there at the same time, so it was a massive, loud, alcohol infused weekend off the bat.
Since then, unfortunately family members don't really travel across the US for Easter, and her grandparents no longer live there, but there are still the traditions. And that's pretty much what made Easter so awesome the first time. From the preparation of all the 'necessary' dishes such as the Bunny Rolls, Artichoke dip, Cheesy Potatoes, Rum Cake and MORE. It's a gourge fest, but it's fucking awesome. And. Of course. The Egg Toss. The front yard egg toss, and of course, over the house egg toss. The Easter egg hunt. The Easter basket hunt in the morning where we're all hungover from going out the night before and trying to decipher the clues. It's all awesome.
That's why I'm posting about the best holiday ever. And I'm off tomorrow night after class.
Awesome!
The one catch? I've still to finish my midterm due Monday morning.
Fucking-fuck-fuck-fuckers!
Easter has always been one of my favourite holidays, and in Geneva the Easter Vigil service was always my absolute favourite services of the year. It was just a special ceremony and fun social time afterwards.
Since college though, Easter has became my favourite holiday. I mean Christmas is great and blah blah blah whatnot, but for me it's really about being with my family rather than Christmas. It also is really stressful, though hands down I can't deny how much I love the Christmas market. Distinction? Not the actual Christmas day. Plus, there's always that semi-empty feeling afterwards, where it's over and you're sad that it finally is over, and everyone's just sitting around not quite sure what to do. Hint: Gluhwein can never go wrong.
Freshman year though, I went home with B for Easter, and I discovered a whole new world of Easter. I didn't quite enjoy the service as much, but the actual weekend is awesome. I mean that first Freshman year Easter was awesome because essentially all of B's family came up to her family's house for Easter because her grandparents still lived there at the same time, so it was a massive, loud, alcohol infused weekend off the bat.
Since then, unfortunately family members don't really travel across the US for Easter, and her grandparents no longer live there, but there are still the traditions. And that's pretty much what made Easter so awesome the first time. From the preparation of all the 'necessary' dishes such as the Bunny Rolls, Artichoke dip, Cheesy Potatoes, Rum Cake and MORE. It's a gourge fest, but it's fucking awesome. And. Of course. The Egg Toss. The front yard egg toss, and of course, over the house egg toss. The Easter egg hunt. The Easter basket hunt in the morning where we're all hungover from going out the night before and trying to decipher the clues. It's all awesome.
That's why I'm posting about the best holiday ever. And I'm off tomorrow night after class.
Awesome!
The one catch? I've still to finish my midterm due Monday morning.
Fucking-fuck-fuck-fuckers!
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
masturbation is not a crime.
Um. Yeah. It seems that I was talking, Shortie says flirting, and I might just have to agree, to this guy in the bar on St. Paddy's for like 45 minutes before I saw what his t-shirt said. Actually his friend, who was cuter but married, pointed it out saying he loved it. I was like, oh, that's great. I seem to remember after that that I might have lost slight interest, plus I was convinced that we should head to Nanny's because my CBC was working there.
We never made it. Might have been a good thing because at that point I was quite fuzzy with the alcohol as I had been drinking since 2:30. And started with vodka with CB.
So not only did I end up semi-flirting with some random boy, with a rather intersting shirt which just put it all out there, but who else do I exchange numbers with? A gay boy.
Curses. I don't know what it is really. Somehow I always find the gay boy at the party and exchange numbers with him. Though this time it was slightly different. CB and I were still by ourselves before meeting up with people...okay, I guess I should slightly start at the beginning.
I had the St. Paddy's day outfit. Bright, spring green polo shirt with my pink tie which was pure brilliant fun. Plus, I didn't want to bring a wallet, so I had put my bank card in one pocket, and cash and my id in the other back pocket. And I didn't want a bulky jacket, so I wore my blazer. CB and I met up in my neighbourhood of work because I had brought some vodka and the all new Gay Fuel, which is tasty, but you can't make the drinks as strong as you can with red bull. It's more watery I guess you would say. But, fizzier and peachier. Yum! CB and I stopped at the CVS to get Red Bulls to suplement especially since CB was feeling tired and drabby and I wanted to buy cigs as well. Which? Two for the price of one at CVS. And the weirdest thing was the guy was like, do you want it? I was all, "a free pack? Sure!" Which makes me think I'll be heading over there soon because by the end of the night they were all gone. I digress though.
CB finished our drinks and headed to LuLu's because CB insisted it was free plus supposedly 'cool' people were going to be there in the form of Better Than Ezra and reality stars. When we got there it was a lull time and they were closing for an hour. So we were walking by a liquor store at that moment and decided to buy a small fifth of vodka. I know. No. I know.
So we finished that on the street. I know. Dodgy. I know. Thought about going to another bar, but because I suddenly was worried about where my id and card were...they were in my front pocket but I freaked out momentarily, they said we were drunk and wouldn't let us in. Please. We were sober compared to most people at that point.
Off to the Black Rooster Pub. Wee! It actually was pretty cool because it wasn't that crowded at the time and CB and I were able to play darts. Somehow, because of two really drunken girls who took an interest in our game, we became friends with a drunken group at the bar. In the drunken group? Oh, and I'm totally skipping the part where I challenged this really cute boy to an Irish Car Bomb and lost. I should have known because a) I had been drinking already and was too buzzed for the fear that makes me fast, and b) he used to be a waiter/bartender and he came down here from CT to try and go to school and work but then dropped out of school. He can drink faster. I digress. Of course somehow ended up talking to the very, very, very gay boy in the group. Who was of course nice, and we hit it off. And then I guess his lifelong friend shows up, and the coolest part about them though is that they both grew up on Army bases in Germany, together obviously, where my aunt was stationed when she was in the Army, so we talked about that. And a little in German.
I, of course, in my state, thought this was the fucking awesomest thing ever! And we were really having a good time with the group. We had these little necklaces the bartender gave us with beer mugs on the end that we were all taking shots out of by the end. Awesome! Of course, we left because I think CB's girlfriend showed up and wanted to leave because she wasn't really joining the group and CB was going to meet up with his co-workers. But of course after a few of, you're the awesomest, no you are with the gay boy, we exchanged numbers. I was like, you're never going to call. But alas.
"Hey it's me, giving you a call, call me back."
Are we at the point yet, where I can recognize your voice? And do I call you back?
We never made it. Might have been a good thing because at that point I was quite fuzzy with the alcohol as I had been drinking since 2:30. And started with vodka with CB.
So not only did I end up semi-flirting with some random boy, with a rather intersting shirt which just put it all out there, but who else do I exchange numbers with? A gay boy.
Curses. I don't know what it is really. Somehow I always find the gay boy at the party and exchange numbers with him. Though this time it was slightly different. CB and I were still by ourselves before meeting up with people...okay, I guess I should slightly start at the beginning.
I had the St. Paddy's day outfit. Bright, spring green polo shirt with my pink tie which was pure brilliant fun. Plus, I didn't want to bring a wallet, so I had put my bank card in one pocket, and cash and my id in the other back pocket. And I didn't want a bulky jacket, so I wore my blazer. CB and I met up in my neighbourhood of work because I had brought some vodka and the all new Gay Fuel, which is tasty, but you can't make the drinks as strong as you can with red bull. It's more watery I guess you would say. But, fizzier and peachier. Yum! CB and I stopped at the CVS to get Red Bulls to suplement especially since CB was feeling tired and drabby and I wanted to buy cigs as well. Which? Two for the price of one at CVS. And the weirdest thing was the guy was like, do you want it? I was all, "a free pack? Sure!" Which makes me think I'll be heading over there soon because by the end of the night they were all gone. I digress though.
CB finished our drinks and headed to LuLu's because CB insisted it was free plus supposedly 'cool' people were going to be there in the form of Better Than Ezra and reality stars. When we got there it was a lull time and they were closing for an hour. So we were walking by a liquor store at that moment and decided to buy a small fifth of vodka. I know. No. I know.
So we finished that on the street. I know. Dodgy. I know. Thought about going to another bar, but because I suddenly was worried about where my id and card were...they were in my front pocket but I freaked out momentarily, they said we were drunk and wouldn't let us in. Please. We were sober compared to most people at that point.
Off to the Black Rooster Pub. Wee! It actually was pretty cool because it wasn't that crowded at the time and CB and I were able to play darts. Somehow, because of two really drunken girls who took an interest in our game, we became friends with a drunken group at the bar. In the drunken group? Oh, and I'm totally skipping the part where I challenged this really cute boy to an Irish Car Bomb and lost. I should have known because a) I had been drinking already and was too buzzed for the fear that makes me fast, and b) he used to be a waiter/bartender and he came down here from CT to try and go to school and work but then dropped out of school. He can drink faster. I digress. Of course somehow ended up talking to the very, very, very gay boy in the group. Who was of course nice, and we hit it off. And then I guess his lifelong friend shows up, and the coolest part about them though is that they both grew up on Army bases in Germany, together obviously, where my aunt was stationed when she was in the Army, so we talked about that. And a little in German.
I, of course, in my state, thought this was the fucking awesomest thing ever! And we were really having a good time with the group. We had these little necklaces the bartender gave us with beer mugs on the end that we were all taking shots out of by the end. Awesome! Of course, we left because I think CB's girlfriend showed up and wanted to leave because she wasn't really joining the group and CB was going to meet up with his co-workers. But of course after a few of, you're the awesomest, no you are with the gay boy, we exchanged numbers. I was like, you're never going to call. But alas.
"Hey it's me, giving you a call, call me back."
Are we at the point yet, where I can recognize your voice? And do I call you back?
Thursday, March 10, 2005
house of whatnow?
I'm a procrastinator. Established.
What I've never done yet up to this point is scare the shit out of myself at 2:30 in the morning by myself. Why would I ever even do that?
Clearly, when you procrastinate as much as I do, you need to find new ways to procrastinate. I mean there are only so many times you can visit your favourite websites because really? Not updated past midnight usually. Or 1 in the morning.
I discovered awhile ago that the iTunes player is quite the resourceful little tool in watching movie trailers which I fucking love. I vehemently hate being late to a movie because then you miss the previews and really most of the time they are better than the movies being advertised themselves, and it's just part of the process. Usually there will be a movie preview that will give you goose bumps and it's awesome. The iTunes player has lots of previews for movies that are coming up that might not even be in the movie theaters yet, and really it's just a great way to spend time.
I've also had a fleeting crush on Chad Michael Murray. It's done, but it was there for quite a significant period of time which is rather impressive. It was there until he did the Hilary Duff movie. Game over loser. Anyway, everyone has been talking about the new "House of Wax" which was filmed last summer and he's in it as well as Paris Hilton, blech, and a few others. The set was plagued with problems, one of which wasn't necessarily Paris' diseased muff, but the set burned down. Ironic. I know. Plus when he was filming it, CMM, as his rabid fans call him, suddenly hit mainstream press for some reason and people kept on talking about it.
The other day at work I noticed in the movie preview section there was a preview for "House of Wax," and I was like, cool, I should watch that but not right now because I'm listening to a good song, or I was actually doing work. I can't remember which at the time.
So when does Karen decide to watch the preview? By herself, past 2 in the morning. Which size does Karen decide to watch? Fullscreen. What does Karen realize halfway through the preview? What the fuck am I doing freaking myself out this late in the evening by myself with these freaky images. Again, not actually Paris.
Smooth.
What I've never done yet up to this point is scare the shit out of myself at 2:30 in the morning by myself. Why would I ever even do that?
Clearly, when you procrastinate as much as I do, you need to find new ways to procrastinate. I mean there are only so many times you can visit your favourite websites because really? Not updated past midnight usually. Or 1 in the morning.
I discovered awhile ago that the iTunes player is quite the resourceful little tool in watching movie trailers which I fucking love. I vehemently hate being late to a movie because then you miss the previews and really most of the time they are better than the movies being advertised themselves, and it's just part of the process. Usually there will be a movie preview that will give you goose bumps and it's awesome. The iTunes player has lots of previews for movies that are coming up that might not even be in the movie theaters yet, and really it's just a great way to spend time.
I've also had a fleeting crush on Chad Michael Murray. It's done, but it was there for quite a significant period of time which is rather impressive. It was there until he did the Hilary Duff movie. Game over loser. Anyway, everyone has been talking about the new "House of Wax" which was filmed last summer and he's in it as well as Paris Hilton, blech, and a few others. The set was plagued with problems, one of which wasn't necessarily Paris' diseased muff, but the set burned down. Ironic. I know. Plus when he was filming it, CMM, as his rabid fans call him, suddenly hit mainstream press for some reason and people kept on talking about it.
The other day at work I noticed in the movie preview section there was a preview for "House of Wax," and I was like, cool, I should watch that but not right now because I'm listening to a good song, or I was actually doing work. I can't remember which at the time.
So when does Karen decide to watch the preview? By herself, past 2 in the morning. Which size does Karen decide to watch? Fullscreen. What does Karen realize halfway through the preview? What the fuck am I doing freaking myself out this late in the evening by myself with these freaky images. Again, not actually Paris.
Smooth.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
that's so gay.
Truer words never spoken.
I think it's pretty obvious that I have an obsession for all things the L Word. I can't quite explain it, nor do I really care to. Though I do have to say that I think that obsession is waning slightly as I wasn't quite enjoying the new season as much.
Until the last episode. Fuck you L Word. How am I supposed to graduate from grad school when you play new episodes on Sunday night? Though I do have to say that in terms of regular fervor of fans over this show that I would be seen as a casual viewer comparatively. I mean I don't spend my day on message boards posting about the episodes, nor do I run some fan website.
I'm not going to try rationalize anymore. We all have our ticks. I mean my other show obsession is Golden Girls. I know. I know. So gay.
So yes, not only has the new season of the L word been slightly disappointing, but most importantly they have the. Crappiest. Theme. Song. And. Opening Sequence. Ever. I mean an unholy alliance has been formed between the group Betty and the showrunners. I mean horrible. Not only is the new pathetic song and sequence just calamitous, I mean really, the word fuck and any variation thereof does not need to be in a theme song...you're already a show about lesbians...you're edgy. We. Get. It., but one of the chicks from Betty is also the new music composer for the show. Which means that there are multiple variations of the theme song in the episode. It needs to end. Betty does not in fact rule, Betty sucks.
So, I found myself on the L word official Showtime site because they are 'supposedly' giving away a free iPod a day. Come on people. That's bullshit. But they had this highlighted link about an upcoming event that Ilene Chaiken, show creator, and as far as her hiring Betty and writing the first two lackluster episodes, buzzkiller, was hosting a Betty Rules evening with proceeds benefiting HRC.
Miraculously? The so-called 'awesome' Betty Rules event was happening here in DC. No cool stuff ever really happens here in terms of entertainment industry related. Okay, seeing what the event is, still no cool stuff happens here.
The evening is $40. What??? And so I decide to shoot the information in an email off to Shortie along with the brief teasing message, "Wanna go?" I mean a) clearly not worth the money and b) clearly don't have that type of money. Perhaps if like Jennifer Beals or Leisha Hailey or someone cool was hosting it I'd have sold my kidney or something to go. But come on people. Well, there's also the fact that I don't think that HRC is doing an effective job for the community, but whatevs.
Shortie's response? That's so gay.
I have no idea why but it cracked me up for minutes afterwards.
I think it's pretty obvious that I have an obsession for all things the L Word. I can't quite explain it, nor do I really care to. Though I do have to say that I think that obsession is waning slightly as I wasn't quite enjoying the new season as much.
Until the last episode. Fuck you L Word. How am I supposed to graduate from grad school when you play new episodes on Sunday night? Though I do have to say that in terms of regular fervor of fans over this show that I would be seen as a casual viewer comparatively. I mean I don't spend my day on message boards posting about the episodes, nor do I run some fan website.
I'm not going to try rationalize anymore. We all have our ticks. I mean my other show obsession is Golden Girls. I know. I know. So gay.
So yes, not only has the new season of the L word been slightly disappointing, but most importantly they have the. Crappiest. Theme. Song. And. Opening Sequence. Ever. I mean an unholy alliance has been formed between the group Betty and the showrunners. I mean horrible. Not only is the new pathetic song and sequence just calamitous, I mean really, the word fuck and any variation thereof does not need to be in a theme song...you're already a show about lesbians...you're edgy. We. Get. It., but one of the chicks from Betty is also the new music composer for the show. Which means that there are multiple variations of the theme song in the episode. It needs to end. Betty does not in fact rule, Betty sucks.
So, I found myself on the L word official Showtime site because they are 'supposedly' giving away a free iPod a day. Come on people. That's bullshit. But they had this highlighted link about an upcoming event that Ilene Chaiken, show creator, and as far as her hiring Betty and writing the first two lackluster episodes, buzzkiller, was hosting a Betty Rules evening with proceeds benefiting HRC.
Miraculously? The so-called 'awesome' Betty Rules event was happening here in DC. No cool stuff ever really happens here in terms of entertainment industry related. Okay, seeing what the event is, still no cool stuff happens here.
The evening is $40. What??? And so I decide to shoot the information in an email off to Shortie along with the brief teasing message, "Wanna go?" I mean a) clearly not worth the money and b) clearly don't have that type of money. Perhaps if like Jennifer Beals or Leisha Hailey or someone cool was hosting it I'd have sold my kidney or something to go. But come on people. Well, there's also the fact that I don't think that HRC is doing an effective job for the community, but whatevs.
Shortie's response? That's so gay.
I have no idea why but it cracked me up for minutes afterwards.
Monday, March 07, 2005
so do you have a job you do at work?
I'm not going to lie and say people haven't asked me that before.
Actually when I was on the phone with Shortie tonight she asked that particular question.
I think that the reason people ask me this question so frequently is because I often talk about what I might be doing at work.
Blogging...well sometimes, I'm not that prolific, nor do I feel the need to be. Reading Television Without Pity. Let's be honest. Reading a plethora of entertainment websites. Emailing sometimes. Homework. Bouncing off my office walls with energy. Tripping. You know. The regular.
What I leave out of that description? The mundane and the boring. I mean do my friends really want to hear that I had to make a photocopy pronto? I had to walk 7 blocks to make some photocopies in annoying library. I'm calling people to invite them to a meeting. I'm doing a meta lit search on issues concerning my project.
The answer would be, I think not. I often find those details boring. Plus they would potentially not really understand the issues and it's not interesting. Granted there are days where I should be more prolific at my job, but luckily I have a job with education benefits and benefits of being somewhat relaxed.
So friends? Back off. I totally do my share of work! Most days. Some days. Days...
Actually when I was on the phone with Shortie tonight she asked that particular question.
I think that the reason people ask me this question so frequently is because I often talk about what I might be doing at work.
Blogging...well sometimes, I'm not that prolific, nor do I feel the need to be. Reading Television Without Pity. Let's be honest. Reading a plethora of entertainment websites. Emailing sometimes. Homework. Bouncing off my office walls with energy. Tripping. You know. The regular.
What I leave out of that description? The mundane and the boring. I mean do my friends really want to hear that I had to make a photocopy pronto? I had to walk 7 blocks to make some photocopies in annoying library. I'm calling people to invite them to a meeting. I'm doing a meta lit search on issues concerning my project.
The answer would be, I think not. I often find those details boring. Plus they would potentially not really understand the issues and it's not interesting. Granted there are days where I should be more prolific at my job, but luckily I have a job with education benefits and benefits of being somewhat relaxed.
So friends? Back off. I totally do my share of work! Most days. Some days. Days...
did you open this already?
Firstly. Why do I only write new entries from home when I really should be studying or writing? It's like I was born to screw myself over. I mean I know I could go to bed a whole hell of a lot sooner if I would just get down to it and write my fucking reaction paper to class.
That would make too much sense. I have a little less than 12 hours to send in my reaction paper which essentially means that I have loads of time.
Okay, I feel like I have loads of time. What I'm hoping is that I finish this entry and just fucking type it and get it over with rather than waking up at 9 tomorrow and typing it and running in late to work.
I'd like to actually have the time tomorrow to swing by Dunkin's for coffee. Or you know, be on time for work.
Stay with me people, I'll get back on track again. I always do. The time period for my Pepsi and iTunes obsession is going to come to an end soon, almost inadvertently fueling me to purhcase more bottles. Make those stops to CVS more frequently. Buy a bottle at lunch despite the fact that the are 10 cents cheaper, but hands down a sure deal in getting a song.
I was a little 'hungover,' and I really do mean a dash on Saturday morning. And I really do mean just to the point where your body is a little sore and you just want cold, sweet soda to make you feel better. Or fabulous Gatorade, but there's only a Pepsi vending machine in your building. Which of course means the opportunity to win.
No dice. It wasn't even a buy one get one free. I hate vending machines. No control over your destiny.
Earlier this week, despite the fact that I sounded like a frog took up residence in my throat and I was attempting to regulary force my lungs through my throat I decided to stop by CVS to get a Diet Pepsi. I mean, I hadn't bought one in almost a week because I had been sick. I head to CVS with Curly and purchase two bottles. I can't ever just pick one, because what if it's a winner. Right?
I've decided I'll be good though. I'll just drink the one bottle and wait for tomorrow. Bottle number one? A winner! Wooot! Curly stops by to chit-chat, as she does, and peers at the bottle wondering if it's a winner or not. Another co-worker stops by for a legit question. I know. The fucking audacity! Curly leaves and leaves the bottle on my desk.
Of course, once I'm by myself again I can't help looking at the bottle next to me. Caffeine is coursing through my veins. For like the first time in days. I have to know. So I pick the bottle up, and what the fuck is that?
I see the bottle has already been opened. That plastic ring that is solidly fused to the bottle before the first purchase? It's separate? Fuck. Shit. Fuck. CVS is never going to believe me. I head off to see if Curly was in fact the culprit because she wanted to see. Curly starts laughing and asking when the hell she could have opened it without me hearing or noticing. I was like, you know, I thought so, but I just wanted to double-check.
This injustice must be dealt with. Plus? I can't drink an already opened bottle. So I enlist Crazy Co-Worker to come with me, and luckily she does. Luckily? CVS believes me and I get to pick another bottle.
Did I look at the bottle and see whether it had won when we were in the elevator? Yup. It was a buy one get one free, so I didn't feel so bad about having to return it. I was actually a little relieved. I wonder if I would have still returned the bottle. My question though is, I'm obsessed but i would never ever open a bottle and then put it back. I mean seriously people, a song is only 99 cents and that seems a little extreme.
Even for me! Bastards made me have to head back to CVS. And what if I hadn't noticed? DIRTY!
The new bottle? It was a winner. Which is pretty fucking lucky because I didn't look because I thought that would have made them doubt the fact that I wasn't just returning a loser.
Total iTunes tally at this point? 12 songs.
That would make too much sense. I have a little less than 12 hours to send in my reaction paper which essentially means that I have loads of time.
Okay, I feel like I have loads of time. What I'm hoping is that I finish this entry and just fucking type it and get it over with rather than waking up at 9 tomorrow and typing it and running in late to work.
I'd like to actually have the time tomorrow to swing by Dunkin's for coffee. Or you know, be on time for work.
Stay with me people, I'll get back on track again. I always do. The time period for my Pepsi and iTunes obsession is going to come to an end soon, almost inadvertently fueling me to purhcase more bottles. Make those stops to CVS more frequently. Buy a bottle at lunch despite the fact that the are 10 cents cheaper, but hands down a sure deal in getting a song.
I was a little 'hungover,' and I really do mean a dash on Saturday morning. And I really do mean just to the point where your body is a little sore and you just want cold, sweet soda to make you feel better. Or fabulous Gatorade, but there's only a Pepsi vending machine in your building. Which of course means the opportunity to win.
No dice. It wasn't even a buy one get one free. I hate vending machines. No control over your destiny.
Earlier this week, despite the fact that I sounded like a frog took up residence in my throat and I was attempting to regulary force my lungs through my throat I decided to stop by CVS to get a Diet Pepsi. I mean, I hadn't bought one in almost a week because I had been sick. I head to CVS with Curly and purchase two bottles. I can't ever just pick one, because what if it's a winner. Right?
I've decided I'll be good though. I'll just drink the one bottle and wait for tomorrow. Bottle number one? A winner! Wooot! Curly stops by to chit-chat, as she does, and peers at the bottle wondering if it's a winner or not. Another co-worker stops by for a legit question. I know. The fucking audacity! Curly leaves and leaves the bottle on my desk.
Of course, once I'm by myself again I can't help looking at the bottle next to me. Caffeine is coursing through my veins. For like the first time in days. I have to know. So I pick the bottle up, and what the fuck is that?
I see the bottle has already been opened. That plastic ring that is solidly fused to the bottle before the first purchase? It's separate? Fuck. Shit. Fuck. CVS is never going to believe me. I head off to see if Curly was in fact the culprit because she wanted to see. Curly starts laughing and asking when the hell she could have opened it without me hearing or noticing. I was like, you know, I thought so, but I just wanted to double-check.
This injustice must be dealt with. Plus? I can't drink an already opened bottle. So I enlist Crazy Co-Worker to come with me, and luckily she does. Luckily? CVS believes me and I get to pick another bottle.
Did I look at the bottle and see whether it had won when we were in the elevator? Yup. It was a buy one get one free, so I didn't feel so bad about having to return it. I was actually a little relieved. I wonder if I would have still returned the bottle. My question though is, I'm obsessed but i would never ever open a bottle and then put it back. I mean seriously people, a song is only 99 cents and that seems a little extreme.
Even for me! Bastards made me have to head back to CVS. And what if I hadn't noticed? DIRTY!
The new bottle? It was a winner. Which is pretty fucking lucky because I didn't look because I thought that would have made them doubt the fact that I wasn't just returning a loser.
Total iTunes tally at this point? 12 songs.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
end of an era
I had the unfortunate experience of having to talk to the Most Annoying Aquaintance Ever; the only reason that I keep talking to her is because I'm always worried that maybe I'll need to use her for her car, or you know if everyone moves out of the city I would still have a friend.
I also just feel bad because she's that annoying, and I don't think that she has that many 'real' friends. I've found out through multiple forays into happy hours and her personal stories that people are her friends, but not really. Essentially they all think she's annoying and crazy. One time my friend and I were at a party, and met someone that was an alum at her college and we were all, 'do you know MAAE?' This person reacted with horror and disgust. MAAE's alma mater is pretty small, so it wasn't suprising that she was 'known' by this person.
She's not a horrible human being, so it's easier to be annoyed and feel sorry for her, and never really stick a fork in her, you know?
Anyway, MAAE is on the phone with me at work, and I'm semi-listening as usual, until she hits me with the Worst. News. Ever.
Krupin's Deli has closed.
Brace yourselves. Krupin's is The. Best. Deli. Ever. I guess I should rather say was, but you get the drift. Stretch and I used to frequent Krupin's for brunch almost every Sunday. It was awesome. My mom though I was going to take my grandmother there when she came to visit, and the first time CBF came she asked if I took him there. I mean even my mother knew how much we loved this place.
After I took the LSAT's my friend, who I still have think of a nickname...let's just go with Bridezilla for the moment...and I love you dearly B, and MAAE picked me up, and the first place we went to was Krupin's to help me through that trauma.
Krupin's made you feel like a regular. Or, maybe we just were regulars. Either way, the Blintz's rocked, the potato pancakes were awesome, and I loved the Reuben's. Stretch and I would regularly gorge ourselves. Especially on the free refills of sodas. There is never enough Diet Coke.
I'm still in mourning. It's now Mr. K's New York Deli, and MAAE informs me that the menu has changed, and they've painted the walls different colors. What the fuck?
One of the best parts was that this deli had been in DC for years and the walls were lined with photographs of regular families and famous people. It was a slice of a genuine New York Jewish Deli down to the bowl of pickles on the table.
One time, and I swear it could have been Krupin himself served Stretch and I. We were hungry and slightly hungover and so we ordered appetizers and a main meal. I ordered the potato pancakes and a Reuben whilst Stretch ordered Blintzes and a Salmon platter.
He was supposed to bring out our appetizers first, but instead brought out all four plates at once which meant it was this fucking buffet of food that even to us looked like too much food. He was the gruff old man, just placing them on the table. Pausing briefly, he looked at us both and just said, "God Bless you Girls." Like he thought we were going to die for eating so much food.
Stretch and I busted out laughing. Of course we didn't finish the food, but we did put a major dent in it.
God Bless you Krupin's.
I also just feel bad because she's that annoying, and I don't think that she has that many 'real' friends. I've found out through multiple forays into happy hours and her personal stories that people are her friends, but not really. Essentially they all think she's annoying and crazy. One time my friend and I were at a party, and met someone that was an alum at her college and we were all, 'do you know MAAE?' This person reacted with horror and disgust. MAAE's alma mater is pretty small, so it wasn't suprising that she was 'known' by this person.
She's not a horrible human being, so it's easier to be annoyed and feel sorry for her, and never really stick a fork in her, you know?
Anyway, MAAE is on the phone with me at work, and I'm semi-listening as usual, until she hits me with the Worst. News. Ever.
Krupin's Deli has closed.
Brace yourselves. Krupin's is The. Best. Deli. Ever. I guess I should rather say was, but you get the drift. Stretch and I used to frequent Krupin's for brunch almost every Sunday. It was awesome. My mom though I was going to take my grandmother there when she came to visit, and the first time CBF came she asked if I took him there. I mean even my mother knew how much we loved this place.
After I took the LSAT's my friend, who I still have think of a nickname...let's just go with Bridezilla for the moment...and I love you dearly B, and MAAE picked me up, and the first place we went to was Krupin's to help me through that trauma.
Krupin's made you feel like a regular. Or, maybe we just were regulars. Either way, the Blintz's rocked, the potato pancakes were awesome, and I loved the Reuben's. Stretch and I would regularly gorge ourselves. Especially on the free refills of sodas. There is never enough Diet Coke.
I'm still in mourning. It's now Mr. K's New York Deli, and MAAE informs me that the menu has changed, and they've painted the walls different colors. What the fuck?
One of the best parts was that this deli had been in DC for years and the walls were lined with photographs of regular families and famous people. It was a slice of a genuine New York Jewish Deli down to the bowl of pickles on the table.
One time, and I swear it could have been Krupin himself served Stretch and I. We were hungry and slightly hungover and so we ordered appetizers and a main meal. I ordered the potato pancakes and a Reuben whilst Stretch ordered Blintzes and a Salmon platter.
He was supposed to bring out our appetizers first, but instead brought out all four plates at once which meant it was this fucking buffet of food that even to us looked like too much food. He was the gruff old man, just placing them on the table. Pausing briefly, he looked at us both and just said, "God Bless you Girls." Like he thought we were going to die for eating so much food.
Stretch and I busted out laughing. Of course we didn't finish the food, but we did put a major dent in it.
God Bless you Krupin's.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
wine bars are dangerous
Okay. So I've decided to defeat the block I've had in terms of writing posts about something other than not knowing what to write, and drunk Hilary Duff pictures.
Which, you know, you should totally check out if haven't yet. I mean they aren't in the section of Lindsay Lohan drunkeness with her bought tits flopping all over the place or her doing alps of coke like Mischa Barton, but they still are pretty cool.
I've decided that since I've finally given PMF, and for the record she definitely is my friend...but it's something she understands, a nickname that I can continue my stories from the way beginning.
To keep this long story somewhat short, PMF comes for a 'surprise' visit two weekends ago. It would have been more of a shocker if I hadn't beaten Shortie for the information because I knew something was going on and I couldn't take the not knowing with all the other stress in my life.
PMF arrives on Thursday, and I arrange to meet up with PMF and Shortie after my class so we can have some drinks and hang out. I was very excited as I hadn't seen PMF in ages because every time she came to visit I was out of town.
Shortie is working the opening of an art gallery, and so I beg off a happy hour with classmates to meet the duo at the art show. In the freezing cold wind. With Shortie telling me to get off the metro one stop early so I have to walk an extra 5 blocks in the shady neighbourhood. 'Hello group of drug dealers! No, no. That's okay. I don't want your candy! And no. No sexual advances this evening please. And this? Totally fake designer bag. See ya!" Smooth Shortie. Smooth.
So I arrive at the art show. And this is a phenomenon that Shortie has introduced me to. And damn fucking art show opening? Make sure you go. Two words. Free. Wine. It's the greatest thing ever. So not only are you feeling like you're having a cultural experience, but you get as much free wine as you want. And yeah, there are usually lovely little crudites but that doesn't matter next to the wine.
I swoop in and start my evening. Because here is my other thing. I always need to take advantage of free alcohol. I think it's clearly from being a poor working runt and finally realizing how expensive fucking alcohol is in the real world post-college. So we look at the art. Drink the wine. Catch up with PMF. Drink wine. Watch other people suddenly come in. Open another bottle of wine. Drink wine. Talk about Shortie talking with Metro Boy. Drink more wine. Talk about the artist's outfit. Drink more wine. Close the art show. Finish the bottle of wine.
Evening Wine Glass Count: 5 maybe 6.
So as previously planned, though much later in the evening, we decide to head to the fabulous, fabulous french wine bar in my neighbourhood. They have awesome, intimate seating and decorations along with awesome chill-lounge music. Most importantly? They serve Kirs.
Kir: White wine with a dash of Cassis.
Super Fancy Evening? Kir Royale: Champagne with a dash of Cassis.
I was introduced to such love in high school. Don't look at me like that. The drinking age was 16 thank you very much.
We enter and the bar is actually pretty packed. Interesting. Especially for a Thursday evening. So we huddle ourselves around the table and start in. Kir for me, Kir for PMF, beer for Shortie. Now, to be honest we're pretty buzzed at this point. Strike that. I'm pretty buzzed and the other two are on their way toward buzzed land. PMF and Shortie decide to order the cheese platter. And we all order another round of drinks.
By now we're laughing at shared memories in this dark, warm wonderful place and for some reason we decide to deviate from the norm. We decide to get some of their custom drinks. Because you know what? One of them has absinthe in it! Absinthe! So were all, aight, let's get crazy tonight.
Sadly, the bar was out of absinthe. Instead we ordered these fabulous drinks that had malibu, and milk and creme de cacoa in it and who else remembers but it was tasty. Wait. They ordered that. I can't remember what my drink was anymore, but it was very strong. Clearly as we're that happy we decide to get another round. I'm back to wine and Shortie and PMF are still on the cocktails. This is where my drink count gets a little fuzzy. I do remember that my mother called, because she always does, and because I'm drunk I of course decide that I should pick up the phone. I then shove the phone in Shortie's face saying, talk to her while I'm not in the hospital. Stories are told. Laughing has been had.
Final Drink Count: Unknown.
The next morning I wake up and as I realize that my chest feels heavy and ALL the lights are on in my apartment and the TV is on, but on mute, and I'm on top of my covers in my comfy clothes but not my pajamas.
Shit. It's 6 in the morning and I feel like shit and I have to be at work soon. Not nearly enough time to sleep off the effects of the wine. I do stumble around my apartment turning everything off, including the oven.
Scratch that. Maybe art openings are dangerous.
Good dangerous though!
Which, you know, you should totally check out if haven't yet. I mean they aren't in the section of Lindsay Lohan drunkeness with her bought tits flopping all over the place or her doing alps of coke like Mischa Barton, but they still are pretty cool.
I've decided that since I've finally given PMF, and for the record she definitely is my friend...but it's something she understands, a nickname that I can continue my stories from the way beginning.
To keep this long story somewhat short, PMF comes for a 'surprise' visit two weekends ago. It would have been more of a shocker if I hadn't beaten Shortie for the information because I knew something was going on and I couldn't take the not knowing with all the other stress in my life.
PMF arrives on Thursday, and I arrange to meet up with PMF and Shortie after my class so we can have some drinks and hang out. I was very excited as I hadn't seen PMF in ages because every time she came to visit I was out of town.
Shortie is working the opening of an art gallery, and so I beg off a happy hour with classmates to meet the duo at the art show. In the freezing cold wind. With Shortie telling me to get off the metro one stop early so I have to walk an extra 5 blocks in the shady neighbourhood. 'Hello group of drug dealers! No, no. That's okay. I don't want your candy! And no. No sexual advances this evening please. And this? Totally fake designer bag. See ya!" Smooth Shortie. Smooth.
So I arrive at the art show. And this is a phenomenon that Shortie has introduced me to. And damn fucking art show opening? Make sure you go. Two words. Free. Wine. It's the greatest thing ever. So not only are you feeling like you're having a cultural experience, but you get as much free wine as you want. And yeah, there are usually lovely little crudites but that doesn't matter next to the wine.
I swoop in and start my evening. Because here is my other thing. I always need to take advantage of free alcohol. I think it's clearly from being a poor working runt and finally realizing how expensive fucking alcohol is in the real world post-college. So we look at the art. Drink the wine. Catch up with PMF. Drink wine. Watch other people suddenly come in. Open another bottle of wine. Drink wine. Talk about Shortie talking with Metro Boy. Drink more wine. Talk about the artist's outfit. Drink more wine. Close the art show. Finish the bottle of wine.
Evening Wine Glass Count: 5 maybe 6.
So as previously planned, though much later in the evening, we decide to head to the fabulous, fabulous french wine bar in my neighbourhood. They have awesome, intimate seating and decorations along with awesome chill-lounge music. Most importantly? They serve Kirs.
Kir: White wine with a dash of Cassis.
Super Fancy Evening? Kir Royale: Champagne with a dash of Cassis.
I was introduced to such love in high school. Don't look at me like that. The drinking age was 16 thank you very much.
We enter and the bar is actually pretty packed. Interesting. Especially for a Thursday evening. So we huddle ourselves around the table and start in. Kir for me, Kir for PMF, beer for Shortie. Now, to be honest we're pretty buzzed at this point. Strike that. I'm pretty buzzed and the other two are on their way toward buzzed land. PMF and Shortie decide to order the cheese platter. And we all order another round of drinks.
By now we're laughing at shared memories in this dark, warm wonderful place and for some reason we decide to deviate from the norm. We decide to get some of their custom drinks. Because you know what? One of them has absinthe in it! Absinthe! So were all, aight, let's get crazy tonight.
Sadly, the bar was out of absinthe. Instead we ordered these fabulous drinks that had malibu, and milk and creme de cacoa in it and who else remembers but it was tasty. Wait. They ordered that. I can't remember what my drink was anymore, but it was very strong. Clearly as we're that happy we decide to get another round. I'm back to wine and Shortie and PMF are still on the cocktails. This is where my drink count gets a little fuzzy. I do remember that my mother called, because she always does, and because I'm drunk I of course decide that I should pick up the phone. I then shove the phone in Shortie's face saying, talk to her while I'm not in the hospital. Stories are told. Laughing has been had.
Final Drink Count: Unknown.
The next morning I wake up and as I realize that my chest feels heavy and ALL the lights are on in my apartment and the TV is on, but on mute, and I'm on top of my covers in my comfy clothes but not my pajamas.
Shit. It's 6 in the morning and I feel like shit and I have to be at work soon. Not nearly enough time to sleep off the effects of the wine. I do stumble around my apartment turning everything off, including the oven.
Scratch that. Maybe art openings are dangerous.
Good dangerous though!
another p word
procrastination.
Something that I seem to have perfected over the years. I have gotten better, but it is still something that I cannot escape. i think that my constant access to the internet might have something to do with that, but I digress because it's just so bloody brilliant.
Due to the fact that seemingly writing about my two previous weekends of visits of CBF and, drum roll here please...Probably My Friend (and I do truely believe my friend will understand her nickname)...seems somewhat daunting, the simple task was to just give PMF her nickname finally. If it turns out that she doesn't like it, she's the only one who I'm changing it for.
Because? She's that fucking cool.
She rocked the house with her V-Day performance of the Vagina Monologues and she's reclaiming cunts all across Boston. She's in the business of cunt repoing. Sigh. That's more for her benefit as well, but it still makes me laugh my ass off when I remember her email discussing her business.
Essentially? This blog is boring for anyone but her. This post is for her awesomeness in taking part in an awesome play and a very important cause.
Probably My Friend. You fucking rock.
Something that I seem to have perfected over the years. I have gotten better, but it is still something that I cannot escape. i think that my constant access to the internet might have something to do with that, but I digress because it's just so bloody brilliant.
Due to the fact that seemingly writing about my two previous weekends of visits of CBF and, drum roll here please...Probably My Friend (and I do truely believe my friend will understand her nickname)...seems somewhat daunting, the simple task was to just give PMF her nickname finally. If it turns out that she doesn't like it, she's the only one who I'm changing it for.
Because? She's that fucking cool.
She rocked the house with her V-Day performance of the Vagina Monologues and she's reclaiming cunts all across Boston. She's in the business of cunt repoing. Sigh. That's more for her benefit as well, but it still makes me laugh my ass off when I remember her email discussing her business.
Essentially? This blog is boring for anyone but her. This post is for her awesomeness in taking part in an awesome play and a very important cause.
Probably My Friend. You fucking rock.
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